The Bardock Effect
by Connor222
Summary: In which the mystery of the Original Super Saiyan is revealed and the history of the Saiyans told through the strange adventure of the low class Saiyan warrior Bardock.
1. The Symposium

The auditorium is packed with an audience of one thousand petite, well-dressed men and women. The murmuring din of five hundred conversations dies as the lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated. Out onto the stage steps a Tuffle made even more diminutive than the others of his race by his two centuries of life. He is dressed in a metallic blue lab coat that drags behind him on the floor.

He approaches the podium, followed by two much larger men, dressed in rags, as they carry onto the stage a broad television screen. Doctor Lychee begins his lecture.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." His voice is raspy in a way to suggest his own throat has rusted over. "It is an honor to have gathered here the thousand greatest scientific minds on Planet Plant. In four years, we will mark the fourth centennial of our glorious civilization-four centuries of uninterrupted peace and prosperity."

The doctor is met with a wave of approving mutterings and light applause.

"The Department of Scientific Progress and Homeworld Order has gathered us here today to ensure that the Tuffle people may enjoy another four hundred years and beyond of the abundance we have all come to enjoy, thanks entirely to the efforts of the brilliant men and women sitting in this hall today. Every academic in the world understands that key to the continued prosperity of our people lies within the tireless scientific investigation into the problem of our shared ancestry with the Saiyans."

The audience murmurs a bit more. Dr. Lychee continues: "Many of you belong to the new generation of science reinvigorating the DSPHO with the youthful vitality we of the 'old guard' so rightfully envy." The doctor demonstrative lyrics tugs at his silver beard, prompting polite titters from the front rows. "It is an honor to pass the torch to the next great generation of Tuffle scientists, but I implore you to accept the wisdom I and my fellow codgers have gained through hard-won experience."

He breathes deeply. "Many of you are too young to remember what happened in 530. That was the first time in a century our beautiful satellite reached halfway through its synod." The audience murmurs again, this time with grim sobriety. "The Tuffles witnessed the most horrifying event in the history of our world since the coming of Chilld the Arcosian." He turns to the two men in rags. "Boys, if you please."

The two men walk around to the back of the screen and with a startling _click_ illuminate the audience with a diagram of a similarly large man with a tail, vivisected by lines indicating the organic pathways of his internal body.

"With the rising of the full moon, we Tuffles soon discovered a terrible affliction among our loyal servants. Those Saiyans who happened to lay eyes on the moon that night erupted into... boys, would you?"

The screen _clicks_ again, and the audience gasps and recoil at the image now displayed: an actual photograph of a gigantic, monstrous ape, trudging through a Tuffle city with murderous ecstasy.

"This. This _thing_ recalls in its appearance the primeval form of the ancestor we Tuffles and Saiyans share: the Sadalian." The screen _clicks_ again, and a much smaller and infinitely less threatening version of the previous ape is displayed, picking the fleas off of a similar ape. "Thanks to the research conducted over the decades by the new generation of Tuffle scientists, in cooperation with the 'old guard,' we have come to a better understanding of the role the Sadalians played in the divergence of the Tuffle and Saiyan races from our Plantian ancestors."

The ragged men _click_ the screen once again, and it now displays a taxonomic timeline, beginning with the diminutive, upright invertebrates known as the Plantians. The line extends from there and reaches an image of the ape, at which point it diverges into two branches, one signified with a diminutive and civilized Tuffle, and the other signified with a hulking and barbaric Saiyan.

"Research demonstrates that our races diverged following the introduction of the Sadalians to Plant after their homeworld was mysteriously destroyed. The cause of the destruction remains unknown, but thankfully Plant explorers were able to rescue a colony of the Sadalians before the cataclysm occurred circa B.A. 238, preserving a curious part of the galactic ecosystem. Legend has it, in fact, that it was none other than God himself who foresaw the destruction of Sadal and, out of his infinite compassion, led the Plantians to rescue the poor beasts." The audience laughs affectionately. "Pleasant as this story is, we may never know the real reason for the rescue of the Sadalians. However, we have discovered in recent times that the separate modern-day races of our world owe their existence to this act of compassion. DNA testing among our populations reveals that the Tuffles and Saiyans share ancestry with both Sadalians and Plantians; Tuffles, of course, owe more of their genetic makeup to the Plantians, whereas the Saiyan bloodline resulted from more chaotic and wider interbreeding between the two."

Dr. Lychee clears his throat and takes a sip of water from a glass sitting on the podium. "It was roughly four centuries ago that the ancient Tuffles recognized the innate differences in cognitive ability between our race and the Saiyans. It was by this distinction that Tuffle civilization as we know it today began. Further interbreeding with the Saiyan brood was mercifully outlawed, and a caste system was set into place to preserve the true order of nature and the mighty Tuffle culture. We owe it to our Sadalian blood that the original cognitive prowess of the Plantians happened to be magnified, due to certain recessive traits that limited interbreeding happened to trigger, but, as is plain to any Tuffle, the unrestricted mixing of the races that resulted in the Saiyans, while certainly resulting in an increased intellectual capacity compared to our Sadalian ancestors, also stunted further cognitive development. This is what left our Saiyans in such great need of the civilizing effect of Tuffle rule and made them fit for servitude."

A wave of approving but indistinguishable sounds emits from the audience.

"But in 530," says the doctor, deflating the energy of the hall, "we Tuffles discovered the true danger of the Saiyans. Thousands of our people were destroyed in the unpredictable calamity that followed the rising of the moon. When at last the sun rose and our nightmare ended, these Saiyan apes returned to their previous guise and were rightly executed on the spot. Those of us who were alive during that time remember that the DSPHO recalled all Saiyan servants dispensed to the general population, intent on discovering why the remaining Saiyans had failed to transform."

The screen _clicks_ one last time, and an image of the moon takes the center. Around it is sketched a diagram indicating radiation and light emitted from the satellite. "In the ensuing century, we have been able to determine that this transformation was triggered by a relatively recent development in the evolution of Saiyan biology. My esteemed colleague Dr. Blutz pioneered the investigation of the peculiar kind of radiation emitted when the moon reflects light in a complete circle, which we have, in his memory, named 'Blutz waves.' When enough light is reflected off of the surface of the moon, it will give off exactly 17 million units of Blutz waves, called 'xeno.' Legends and wives' tales have always suggested that Saiyans behave strangely on the night of the full moon, an event we can only witness once every hundred years. But now, we have found that Saiyan biology has changed to accommodate the absorption of Blutz waves through the eyes. And advances in physiological study have allowed us to learn that these Blutz waves trigger a reaction with chemicals that are stored in the tails of the Saiyan."

The audience erupts. Between only a thousand members begins three thousand conversations, the minds of the men and women there set aflame by this new discovery. The two ragged men emerge from behind the screen and stand at either side of Dr. Lychee.

"In four years, we will observe both the fourth centennial of our civilization and the hundredth anniversary of the Full Moon Massacre. As you can see, I have already had my Saiyans de-tailed, and the result is that they are much more docile servants and infinitely more amenable to instruction than they ever have been before."

The audience explodes into applause and cheering.

"The DSPHO-please, ladies and gentlemen-the DSPHO has hereby made mandatory the de-tailing of all registered Saiyan servants."

Dr. Lychee waves to his servants, who silently power down the television screen and carry it off of the stage.

"Unregistered servants will be destroyed on sight, and no Saiyans from the hinterland will be permitted into Tuffle space without submission to the de-tailing process. The DSPHO advises all Tuffles to remain indoors on the night of the full moon as the Hinterland Patrol secures the border. This warning will be broadcast in the months leading up to the night the moon reaches full illumination."

The crowd of scientists applauds, and Dr. Lychee salutes his audience and parts with the words: "May Tuffle stewardship of Planet Plant endure until one thousand years, and then for another thousand more!"


	2. The Gift

The year is Age 737, and the genocide of the Kanassan race has begun by the light of the full moon. A terrifying horde of monstrous, gigantic apes rampages across the surface of Planet Kanassa. Soldiers charge headlong into a hopeless battle, resigned to an honorable and hideous fate as the last generation of their people. The Kanassans know their end is inescapable.

That is precisely why none of them are spared.

The dawn comes and no Kanassan structure is left standing. What remains of the native people is a horizon of charred and crushed bodies, and there is no sign of the giant creatures responsible for this carnage. In their place, sitting among stone ruins within a fresh crater are five Saiyan insurgents.

"From the looks of it," says the tallest of them, a Saiyan named Tohma, with his hair spiked up and pulled back into a ponytail, "I guess we did a solid job."

The fat one, Pombookin, speaks up: "If you say so." He runs his thumb over a fresh scar on his left cheek. "Wish I could remember how the hell I let myself get cut up this bad." He looks up at his other colleague, a darker-skinned tank of a Saiyan with male-patterned baldness and three deep cuts along his massive forehead. "But fuck! Looks like Toteppo got the worst of it! You remember any of that, Tiny?" He and his comrades laugh; Toteppo keeps eating from a metallic pouch and staring straight ahead.

"Bardock says he remembers everything," says Selypa, the lone female of the group.

"Right," says Tohma. "Hey, Bardock! You remember what day your son was born?"

The fifth Saiyan, a young man covered in scars with hair matted solid and sticking out in huge tufts on both ends of his end, is lying among the rubble. He mumbles and rolls over.

"Come on, 'Dock," says Selypa. "What day was the little guy born?"

"Fuck should I know?" he growls softly. "Was like six years ago."

The three laugh; Toteppo keeps eating.

"Your _other_ son, dumbass!" says Pombookin. "Not Raditz. What's his name? Kakarott?"

Bardock doesn't answer.

"So yeah. Bardock says he remembers everything he does when he's gone ape, but he'll be fucked if he can remember his own son." Tohma's laugh is throaty and affectionate. "Why don't you go see 'im when we get back, 'Dock? No telling when you'll get another chance."

Bardock gets up and spits. "Why bother? Kid's not a week old and it's already obvious he's a weakling."

Selypa smirks. "'Dock. Think it might be a little early to make a call?"

"Yeah," says Pombookin. "You'd think you were one of this little bitches we tore to shit last night."

"Right?" laughs Selypa. "You psychic all of a sudden, 'Dock?"

Bardock sniffs the scent of charred bodies in the air and drinks in the horror of the landscape he and his comrades created during their lunar rampage. "So they all saw us comin'?"

Tohma gets up and dusts off the armor-plates over his hips. "Yep. Told these guys were giving nearby planets the ol' heads-up. So many dispatches were getting ambushed, Freeza had to call in the Ghinnews to clean up the mess."

"Prancing faggots," mutters Pombookin.

"Didn't do 'em a lick o' good," says Bardock. Suddenly, a figure bursts up from the ground and somersaults over the Saiyan thug's head. Bardock feels a terrific piercing pain at the base of his skull and falls over. Pombookin, Tohma, and Toteppo leap up, while Selypa darts to Bardock and gets him back on his feet.

The figure is a Kanassan: old and disheveled, the blue scales of his head dulled grey and now sagging at either side of his ichthyous mouth. Bardock regains his balance and watches as Toteppo throws a burst of energy at the creature to finish it off, but instead there is a flash of light, and before the bewildered Bardock stands a now young Kanassan, nude, engulfed in blue flame.

For Bardock, time stands still. His gaze is locked with that of the mysterious creature before him. "What have you done?" he asks it.

"Yours now," it says, without moving its lips. Its voice rings and echoes through a silence that was not there a moment ago.

"What?"

"Our gift lives," it tells him. "The end that came for us comes now for your people, Bardock."

The Saiyan thug is stunned.

"Our gift lives on in you, Bardock," the creature continues. "Suffer the despair and terror that attends the unending dreams of a fate from which you cannot escape, even as we suffered."

The Kanassan collapses in the flame, and he burns without making a sound. For Bardock's comrades, a mere instant passes between the attack and the death of this freak survivor.

"Well," says Pombookin. "That was fucked up, huh?"

"Bardock!"

The Saiyan falls to the ground and lies motionless as his comrades call out to him.


	3. The Family

A discoid ship lurches through space. Its crew is a gallery of the most grotesque men from across the galaxy. A menagerie of bulging heads attend to some hulking nightmare of a respiratory contraption in the medical bay, in which is bound their master, the diminutive Chilld the Arcosian. His vital signs are stabilizing, but the horned orange dwarf has yet to open his eyes. The doctors tending to him try to make sense of his episode of incoherent rambling just before he had collapsed.

He was screaming something about a "golden god."

In the control room, the central panel sounds and begins displaying an image upon the foremost wall: the ship is approaching a titanic black planet whose surface is ornamented by swirling pink and violet storms. Chilld's ship has reached Arcos, the homeworld of his clan and the Mother Sphere of the Arcosian Dominion.

As the ship descends, slaves to the Arcosians, all of them putrid, cowardly freaks, hail in trembling as the storms swirl around it and thunder in the announcement of Chilld's return. It lands on the ebony surface of the bay, extending from a palace of white and violet, shaped in horns and spikes and twisting spires. A group of ten crewmen dismount and push along the respirator, in which is concealed the shame of their fallen lord.

Chilld receives no further care. His machine is brought into the throne room, at the fore of which sits upon a white throne like the wing of a beetle a lithe, feminine creature. She is nearly ten feet tall. Atop her head sits a natural crown of white horns. Her shoulders are covered by an exoskeleton forming great wings, in which is directly and horribly nailed her dark violet cape. Her pink face is largely concealed by two falling horns, but her eyes pierce the frozen air before her from the shadow.

The unspeakably cruel Queen Aïss stands, and her monstrous servants flinch. Her unforgiving gaze is fixed on the respiratory machine. In a blind panic, the crewmen rapidly unlock the machine and allow their vanquished lord to spill out on the floor before her thrown, and they flee the throne room.

Chilld coughs and shakes as he stands, struggling to balance himself on his feet.

"The nerve," is all the Queen says, her voice at once soft and thunderous, reverberating through the osteal substance from which the very palace is made.

"Mother," manages Chilld.

He erupts in a torrent of black flame. His shrieks are heard throughout the palace and freeze the very marrow of the slaves of the Arcosians within its walls. The dwarf is frozen in place even as his flesh and bone turn to ash, and he continues to emit an unholy scream even as his whole body begins to collapse. His Arcosian biology is attempting to force his body to reconstitute itself as it is consumed by this unnatural flame, even as Chilld begins to beg in panic to be allowed to die. His voice is gnarled and cold even as he screams, but his tone, the way he pleads with his mother for the mercy of death recalls that of a child in the near-psychotic throes of unparalled fear and anguish only the smallest and most powerless beings can experience.

His mother stands in perfect stillness, her eyes unfeeling and fixed upon the unending torment of her son as his body is consumed over the better part of an hour.

When her son is finally nothing but a pile of ash, the Queen retires to the dining hall. Several slaves, violently shaking, scurry in to clean up what is left of their late master.

The dining hall is long and split along the middle by some dark monolith laid on its side. The stone table is beset with living creatures, some small and mindless and scurrying to escape the bowls in which they are set, others clearly intelligent but crippled and rendered unable to speak or scream. A giant, uncharacteristically fat Arcosian lifts one such humanoid being from the table and crushes its living head with its white jaw, made of the same material as the armor-like osteal plates on his body. A much, much smaller Arcosian, more diminutive than Chilld and as delicate at first glance as any little girl, pours herself a drink from a wine bottle, and out into her glass spills a red viscous fluid that is unquestionably some poor creature's blood.

Queen Aïss enters, and the servants around the two Arcosians at the table fall on their hands on knees. The two continue to dine.

"Out," says the Queen, and the servants nearly fall over one another getting out of the dining hall as quickly as possible.

"Someone's in a mood," says the smaller Arcosian with a smirk.

The fat Arcosian pulls the brain stem of his meal out of his mouth, drops it on the plate in front of him, and turns to the Queen. "Why, Mother, what seems to be troubling you?" he asks in a refined voice that is nevertheless unable to conceal some smug, oily satisfaction. "Has little brother not yet returned from Plant?"

"Shut up, Burg; she's clearly pissed."

"I'm merely concerned for our dear mother and the well-being of darling little Chilld, Purma," says Burg with a grin. "You might try showing an interest in someone other than yourself once in a while."

"Eat a half-million dicks, you-"

The Queen snaps her fingers, and the shockwaves knock the bickering siblings over onto the ground. She approaches Burg. "What did the crew tell you?"

Burg stands and dusts himself off. "Little brother came back from the surface nearly dead, and he was rambling something about a 'golden god' and 'just sayin' or something."

"Was he trying to be hip? He must've got a screw knocked loose!" chirps Purma.

"I really only know what the crew's told me. And none of the surviving crew was on the planet itself when Chilld was defeated."

"A golden god," whispers Aïss to herself. "A guardian?"

"The intelligence showed that Plant doesn't have a guardian," says Burg.

"Then who killed Chilld?" pipes up Purma, trying to squeeze past between her brother's gut and the table.

"Well," says Burg, clearing his throat and nodding at his mother.

"I mean who beat his ass on Plant?"

"The native Plantians couldn't be capable of that," says Burg. "Mother, clearly whatever took down our dear brother had something to do with the bizarre signals we were getting from the planet as Chilld was making his way there."

Aïss stays silent a moment, looking in her son's eyes and forcing him to cast his gaze away. "A god."

"Could it have been-?" says Purma.

Burg gasps. "Mother! It couldn't have been that Chilld crossed-"

Purma finally pops out from between her brother and the table, falling over and tumbling a few feet in front of him. Upside down, she looks at her brother.

"I didn't think he was awake!"

Burg idly picks up the brain stem on his plate and chews on it nervously. "He shouldn't be, not this soon. And even if he was, why would..." His voice trails off as he begins to pace.

"He would not have returned alive," says the Queen; Burg halts his pacing and Purma rights herself.

"But, Mother, if not Beerus, then-"

The Queen locks her gaze onto her son's eyes. They widen.

Purma screams. " _Father_?!"


	4. The Mother

A feminine hand wrapped from the wrist up in treated animal pelt brings a cleaver down onto the severed leg of some monstrous bovine. She quickly wraps each slice of flesh in wax paper to hand off to a young boy gathering them in a rope basket. When the boy scurries off with a full load, she smiles. The faces of the men and women in the public forum are hardened with brute lust for conflict, but this young woman's face is tender and warm.

"Ghenay!" calls a male voice from the mouth of the hollowed stone.

The woman drops her cleaver and turns. "Bardock!"

The scarred Saiyan drops his bag just inside the cave and opens his arms, into which the petite Ghenay joyously leaps.

Considerably less joyously, she pulls back in revulsion.

"Sweet shit, Bardock!" he hollers. "You smell like goop! Did something happen to you?"

Bardock rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. "Had to put me in the ol' double-M when I got back. Got ambushed by one last fucker before he exploded."

She puts his arms around his neck. "Are you okay now, though?"

"Don't be stupid," he says, shoving her off of him and grabbing a bit of raw bovine off the table. He bites into it and begins spewing half-chewed chunks of it as he talked. "Was in the Machine. Wouldn't let me out if I wasn't good."

Ghenay casts her eyes down. Bardock swallows.

"Saw Kakarott while I was over there."

Ghenay perks up and embraces the still-chewing soldier again. "Bardock! That's wonderful! How's our boy doing?"

"Fine," he says, swallowing again.

Ghenay drops from his neck. "What's wrong? Is it because he's weak?"

Bardock doesn't answer.

"I'm sorry, Bardock. I wish I could've given you another strong son."

Bardock casts the limb he was biting to the dirty floor. "Damn it! Told you not to keep apologizing, idiot!"

"S-sorry."

"Ghenay!"

She winces. Bardock's grimace softens, and he puts his arms around the woman's tiny waist. She puts her arms around his neck. Neither says anything for a moment.

"He'll turn out all right, though, right? He'll do us proud?"

Bardock looks down at his beautiful little wife and smiles warmly. Ghenay's eyes quiver and her knees go weak.

"He will, Ghenay. I know it."

He pauses a moment with Ghenay in his arms. "Ever thought about going on a mission?"

Ghenay giggles. "Bardock, of course not. I'm not nearly strong enough."

"Plenty of weak planets out there, Ghenay."

"That's just not who I am. You know that."

"But is this really what you want to do the rest of your life?"

"Bardock?"

He breaks the embrace. "Cutting up meat like some little kid or old lady? Don't you have any ambition?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think it's easy? Being mated to some weakling who's only good for cutting up meat?"

Ghenay begins to tear up. "Bardock-"

"And there you go again! Crying like a little bitch!"

"Bardock!"

"Sure you're not really a Tuffle or something? You sure love to take it easy!"

"How _dare_ you! What's gotten into you?"

"Let me tell you, female! A man thinks about the future. You don't have a future in this meat hut and I don't have a future sticking around _you_! Waiting for some _child_ to grow a tail and actually do something for once!"

Ghenay begins to sob, and her tail defensively wraps around her waist. "How could you _say_ something like that? What did I _do_?"

"That's just it," yells Bardock. "You don't do _shit_! A _real_ Saiyan would've gone up to Missions and got herself assigned, even if it is just to some podunk, backwater bullshit planet like where Kakarott's headed!"

"Kakarott? Bardock, he's still in the incubator."

"Well he's shipping off soon. Went by Missions myself to make sure of it."

"Bardock!" screams Ghenay. "Our boy! He isn't ready!"

"Nobody's ever _ready_! You think I was ready when I got shipped off on my first mission? You either do it or you don't, Ghenay, and if you were a _real_ Saiyan-"

""Nobody's ever ready?" Bardock, you're not saying you wish you'd never-"

"Maybe I am!"

Ghenay gasps. The marketplace is slowing to a crawl, the crowd of Saiyans looking on with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement at the scene unfolding in Meat Distribution.

"I can't-" Ghenay falls to her knees. "Bardock, you're my world!"

"Your world is _ending_ , Ghenay. The _whole world_ is _ending_ for you! May as well go take a mission and get the hell off this rock!"

"Bardock! What-where the hell is this all coming from? You can't mean any of this!"

Bardock stands silent and can't look his woman in the eye.

"Why the hell do you want me off-planet so badly?"

Bardock slumps down onto a stone and puts his head in his hands. Ghenay crawls over to him and takes a hand in hers.

He looks at her with tears in his eyes.

"Bardock. What the hell _happened_ while you were gone?"


End file.
